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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892781">Unstable Ground</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windian/pseuds/Windian'>Windian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Frozen (Disney Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Gen, Post-Frozen (2013), Social Anxiety</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:20:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windian/pseuds/Windian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a question.</p><p>"Anna, are people afraid of me?"</p><p>The fjord is thawed and everything is perfect in Arendelle. Except that Queen Elsa is still wracked with anxieties, she still can't hold a serious conversation with her sister, and there's a giant ice golem running amok on the mountain.</p><p>Elsa returns north to confront her fears.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anna &amp; Elsa (Disney), Elsa &amp; Marshmallow (Disney)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The question has been rattling about for weeks in your chest before you give voice to it.</p><p>You take breakfast alone with Anna, at the desperately long dining table. Even when your parents were alive, it was far too long for four. Most things have shrunk as you’ve grown up; but the dining table, and the long empty halls of Arendelle castle somehow only grew longer.</p><p>
  <em>We really ought to downsize. </em>
</p><p>The cup hits the saucer with a clatter.</p><p>“Anna,” you say, and now you’ve started the question, it pours out of you-- no stopping it now. “Are people afraid of me?”</p><p>Anna hesitates, and that brief pause tells you everything she doesn’t say.</p><p>“What makes you ask that?” she says, voice bright and breezy. Classic deflection-- both of you really are your parents’ daughters.</p><p>Four weeks since the Thaw, and both of you are still treading new ground. In those four weeks, you’ve had hundreds of conversations with your sister, have learnt more about each other than than in the last decade.</p><p>All the same, there are heavy conversations you dance around, and there is unstable ground where Anna is still hesitant to tread.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe because the last time she said something I didn’t like, I kind of set off an eternal winter. </em>
</p><p>Siblings-- normal siblings-- would probably just have taken back their borrowed shoes and initiated the silent treatment.</p><p>Your hands twist around your napkin. It’s hard, but you need to know.</p><p>“I’ve watched you talk to people, Anna. You’re so… good at it. You put them at ease. People seem… nervous around me. Like they’re afraid they’ll set me off and… I’ll do something terrible again.”</p><p>Knuckles tighten, fingers digging into palms, your fingernails blanching moon-white.</p><p>And Anna takes your hand.</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> not afraid of you, Elsa. I never have been.”</p><p>A rush of overwhelming love towards your sister. You’re blinking away tears.</p><p>“Anna...”</p><p>“And honestly-- I’m not that good with people. I get nervous, and I start to ramble, and I go on and on, and say the wrong thing. Most of the time I’m only pretending I know what I’m talking about, and hoping it sticks.”</p><p>“Wait, really?”</p><p>“Yes, really! I mean, I used to spend half my time talking to paintings. Now, I’ve got to figure out what to say when they start talking back.” Anna squeezes your hand, mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Neither of us are experts at this <em>people</em> stuff. And… maybe people get nervous because they’re picking up that <em>you’re </em>nervous, Elsa. You can be kinda serious, and maybe people read that as stern. If you just relax and smile and just be yourself, I know the people would love you.”</p><p>The advice is all well and good, but you’ve spent the past decade trying <em>not </em>to be yourself.</p><p>And along the way, you feel as though you lost sight of who that person was to begin with.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Elsa. We’ll just poke around the thursday markets. It’ll be great practice! Everyone will get to see how nice and fun you are--”</p><p>“Anna-- I’m really not so sure--”</p><p>Your sister coaxes you by hand into the busy market, into the scent of live poultry, of spices all battling for supremacy and sizzling garlic sausages. The cattle auction is in full swing, the auctioneer’s loud voice rattling off items with the rhythmic speed of a woodpecker. And your sister trills, sing-song: “Come <em>on</em>, Elsa, you’re going to do great.”</p><p>One of the many things you’d forgotten: just how stubborn Anna is, and once she gets something in her head, how she refuses to take no for an answer.</p><p>And the market is so loud and crowded, voices flowing together, becoming indistinct, the sound cresting over your head like an almighty wave--</p><p>“Anna, I can’t.<em> I can’t</em>.”</p><p>“You can. And oh! What a beautiful dog! May I pet him?”</p><p>“Oh-- why certainly, your Highness.”</p><p>Anna kneels down, rubbing her hands all over the husky, making sure he knows what a<em> good good boy, yes you are, </em>he is.</p><p>She leaves you standing, hand dangling limply and avoiding eye contact with the dog’s owner.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” they say, in a nervous cough.</p><p>“Oh, hello,” you say, glancing at them with an acknowledging nod, as though you’ve only just noticed her. You look away, heat rising up to your face.</p><p>“Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it your Majesty?” the dog’s owner says. A woman, the glance out of the corner of your eye informs you.</p><p>
  <em>Damn it, Elsa. Look at her. This is social interaction 101.</em>
</p><p>“Indeed. Yes. We’re very lucky.” You draw a smile as tight as a loaded drawstring.</p><p>“I pray the frosts hold off until the harvest festival,” the woman says, and you don’t hear the rest over the blood rushing in your ears.</p><p><em>So long as I don’t ruin another crop</em>, you think, imagining it must what the woman is thinking, unable to meet what must be terror in her eyes.</p><p>“Yes. Come on Anna, we must get going.” The words are short and clipped as you tug Anna away from her <em>there’s a good good boy </em><em>mister fluffy wuffy </em>and into safety. </p><p> </p><p>Under the covered grocery market, you bury your face in your hands with a groan.</p><p>“So, uh… for a first attempt, that went...” Anna says.</p><p>“Terrible,” you finish.</p><p>“Well… but, hey! Silver lining. No snow.”</p><p>You gaze down at your hands. Anna’s right. And yet, why does it feel like a hollow victory?</p><p>“Let’s try someone else. I promise people don’t think you’re--”</p><p>“<em>A monster! A terrible, ravaging monster!” </em></p><p>“Huh?” says Anna.</p><p>You snap in the direction of the voice, a flash-freeze turning the cobblestones beneath your feet ice-solid.</p><p>Men are gathered in the market, concentrated on a haggard man collapsed against the fish counter, his face white as chalk. Someone pushes a drink into his hands.</p><p>“What was it, Igor? A bear?”</p><p>“No. I’ve never seen anything like it. It must have been ten foot-- no, taller! Twelve foot! I was on the North Mountain, by the glacier lake. It came out of the trees, snapping them like they were matchsticks. Teeth like icicles, and fur as white as snow!”</p><p>The buzz is back in your ears. The crowd starts to talk, but you can no longer hear it.</p><p>“Marshmellow,” Anna says, dumbstruck. “He’s still up there.”</p><p>You slip on your own ice. Anna calls after you, but you’re running, back to the safety of four walls, back where you can’t hurt anyone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The reports start to trickle in.</p><p>A creature on the North Mountain.</p><p>Ice harvesters, chased from their livelihood on the lakes.</p><p>Lumberjacks too frightened to return to the woods.</p><p>You slide the reports to the bottom of your in-tray, and try to block them from your mind.</p><p>For a week, you don’t leave your bedroom.</p><p>The spell had been broken. Everything was supposed to go back to normal.</p><p>But what was normal supposed to feel like, anyway?</p><p>The gates are open. Laughter and song resounds in the castle once more. You don’t have to avoid Anna anymore.</p><p>And you’re terrified.</p><p>Terrified of your own ministers, of your own people, who treat you with a mixture of awe and fear. Unapproachable. Cold, they call you, because the words are always stuck in your throat, and how, Father, are you supposed to rule when you never even learned to speak?</p><p>Arendelle is thawed, yet the palace on the mountain still stands, shining, perfect, immaculate as a diamond.</p><p>So, too, does its protector.</p><p> </p><p>Anna gives you a week before she takes matters into her own hands.</p><p>No more knocks and entreaties at the door. She swings it wide, hands on her hips, and tells you, “We’re <em>not </em>doing this again, Elsa.”</p><p>Sat at your desk, getting absolutely no work done, you drop your quill.</p><p>“Anna...” chastened, you bow your head. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Anna sighs, and her anger deflates like a balloon. She sinks down onto her knee in front of you, taking hold of your hand.</p><p>“I’m here for you Elsa, but you have to<em> talk</em> to me.”</p><p>“I fear I’m not very good at it,” you say, trying to raise a tight smile.</p><p>Anna exhales. “That’s ok, too! You don’t have to be perfect at everything, you know, Elsa.”</p><p>That raises a smile-- a real one. After years of a rocky relationship, how did Anna come to have such a high opinion of you?</p><p>“Now tell me what’s going on in that rock hard head of yours,” she says.</p><p>“I guess I-- it’s stupid, really but…”</p><p>“No, go on.”</p><p>Your voice shrinks into itself. “I just feel ashamed of myself. I thought I’d learnt from what happened a month ago, but as soon I heard that man in the market it was like it all disappeared… I just panicked, and it felt like I undid all the progress I’ve made.”</p><p>“Oh, Elsa...”</p><p>“I thought at least the people of Arendelle were safe, but now I find out that-- that thing-- I made on the mountain, he’s still up there. I’m still being punished for my mistakes.”</p><p>“Right, Marshmellow. What do you want to do about him?” Anna asks.</p><p>“I guess pretending he’s not there isn’t going to cut it, huh?”</p><p>“Nope, afraid not,” Anna says, as gently as she can.</p><p>“I need to go up there, don’t I?”</p><p>“Yeah,” says Anna. “Want me to come with you?”</p><p>It’s the thought of Anna in danger that finally stirs you out of your inaction. You set your jaw. “Thank you, Anna. Not this time. This is something I need to fix myself.”</p><p> </p><p>The ice palace sits atop of the mountain like a jewelled diadem, untouched. Solitude as untrod as virgin snow, a lonely bittersweet longing in your heart as you retrace the path you took, just one month ago. The moon is bright in the morning sky, lending a dazzling gleam to the day. You raise a hand to shield your eyes, heart in your mouth as you take in the geometric marvel of the castle.</p><p>The great doors of the palace are shut. You hesitate, and knock. A long silence follows, long enough to steep in your indecision. Why knock <em>at your own castle</em>? But just as you reach for the door, it opens before you, and the bottom of your stomach drops out.</p><p>Just as you marvelled at the castle, you wonder: <em>you</em> created this creature?</p><p>Taller than the double doors, it stoops to squint at her with button black eyes dark as coal. It opens its almighty maw to speak, its voice the rumble of an avalanche.</p><p>“What you want?”</p><p>It shouldn’t come as a surprise that the creature can speak. After all, Olaf speaks, but then Olaf is unthreatening as a Labrador. This creature, however, hunches, looms, his maw set in a perpetual scowl.</p><p>“I...” is all you manage.</p><p>The creature speaks again, its broken voice so bass it shakes the earth. “What you want?”</p><p>“Marshmellow,” you try again, recalling Anna’s name for the beast, “I’m here to--”</p><p>“Not my name,” he says. “Now <em>GO AWAY.”</em></p><p>The bellow is accompanied with a torrent of snow straight in the face, and then the door slams with such force a great crack ricochets through the ice.</p><p>As you make your way down the icy staircase, breaking icicles from off your nose, you’re left with an overpowering feeling: that it doesn’t feel very good to be shut out.</p><p> </p><p>If Marshmellow isn’t the creature’s name, does that mean, by logic, that it has a name?</p><p>Does that mean, by logic, that it is a he?</p><p>“Or a she,” Anna adds, mouth stuffed with breakfast. “Could be a she.”</p><p>“What on earth makes you think a nine foot ice golem is a <em>she</em>, Anna?” you ask.</p><p>She shrugs. “It lives in your palace, right? Maybe she likes all the pretty ice chandeliers you made.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>Anna shovels down more porridge. “So what’s the plan now?”</p><p>“I don’t know… go back, try again, I guess. I mean, he opened the door at least.”</p><p>“That’s more than I ever got,” Anna says, before realising she’s stuck her foot in her mouth. You lower your eyes. “Sorry,” she mutters.</p><p>The two of you dance dangerously close to the conversation that sticks like toffee in your teeth. One day, you’ll have to have it out, but for now you both back away from that thin, unbroken ground.</p><p>Creating Marshmellow had been one of your darkest moments. It’d been naive to think that everything would vanish after the Thaw, your sins scrubbed clean. You’d returned to the palace with the unspoken assumption that you could undo, unmake. Toss away the last piece of evidence, and it would be like you never froze Arendelle, that you never almost killed your sister.</p><p>Perhaps that’s why it’s so difficult to call Marshmellow a he. Or a <em>she</em>, for that matter.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The path to the palace is increasingly easy to follow; you simply follow the trail of smashed up trees to the summit.</p><p>A new addition, however, are the signs, crudely made, and written with a child’s handwriting.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>GO AWAY</p>
  <p>LEAV</p>
  <p>BEWEAR</p>
</blockquote><p>And most alarmingly:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>NO ELSAS</p>
</blockquote><p>It leaves you with the queer feeling that you might not be wanted.</p><p> </p><p>The doors rumble open, and the creature’s shadow looms over you.</p><p>“You again,” he says, looking less than pleased.</p><p>It’s a struggle to meet those coal black eyes. You stammer: “H-hello, yes. Me.”</p><p>He stares, unimpressed. Not a great one for small talk.</p><p>“Why you here?” he asks.</p><p>“I… just thought I’d visit.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why…?” you reach for answers. “I wanted… to see how you are.”</p><p>“Why?” he asks again.</p><p>“Well, because I want to make sure you’re okay.”</p><p>He’s silent so long, eyeing you with a cocked head, that you begin to repeat yourself. Perhaps you ought to use smaller words.</p><p>But then he says, “No. You don’t.”</p><p>It knocks you off balance. Most likely, because it’s the truth.</p><p>“That’s--”</p><p>“You want me go away.”</p><p>You can’t speak; the lie lodges in your throat.</p><p>“Go away Elsa,” he booms, and then the door is back in your face. No progress made at all.</p><p> </p><p>On the way back to the castle, you spot a familiar face. Or at least, part of one.</p><p>Olaf is friends with most of the children in town, and you owe the bubbly snowman a great deal. His cheerful and friendly demeanour does so much for your image you sometimes wonder about making him your PR Chief.</p><p>“Hiiii-- Elsa,” he says, or his mouth does.</p><p>“Olaf, what’s happened? Where’s the rest of you?”</p><p>“Funny story,” says Olaf’s mouth, sat weirdly on the mass of snow that comprised his torso. “Igor, Ralf and Jeremiad asked me if I wanted to play hide and seek. Didn’t realise I was going to be looking for myself though. Might have got in...” he pauses for effect, “a little over my head.”</p><p>“Um,” says Elsa. “Do you know where the rest of you is?”</p><p>“Nope!” he chortles. “Though I can see you, so I can’t be far. You’re upside down. Or I am. One of the two. What rascals those kids are!”</p><p>You help find Olaf’s pieces, and put him back together, giving him a little extra flurry for good measure. The children are nowhere to be seen, though you hear distant giggling-- “Little scamps,” Olaf says, good-naturedly.</p><p>The two of you sit on the bridge as Olaf twists back in his twiggy arms, enjoying the last of the summer sun. The leaves are already changing.</p><p>You never used to care for summer. Winter was easier-- easier to disguise an accidental flurry, or explain away the persistent damp that habituated your bedroom.</p><p>“I’m glad I got to enjoy the summer, Elsa,” Olaf peeps up.</p><p>“Me too,” you say.</p><p>The sun on your face feels warm, and nice. You’ll never take it for granted.</p><p>You wonder how you created Olaf and the creature on the mountain, both. But then-- Olaf was Anna’s creation, too.</p><p>“I wonder if I could have your advice, Olaf.”</p><p>“Fire away. I’m excellent at advice,” says Olaf, puffing himself up.</p><p>“So I’m having some problems with… well, I think you and Anna call him Marshmellow.”</p><p>“Oh, Marshmellow! How’s that big hunk of snow doing?”</p><p>“Well, not so great. He’s being mean to the ice harvesters, and he won’t let me talk to him. He’s holed up in the ice palace, and keeps shutting me out.”</p><p>Olaf put a twiggy finger to his chin, releasing an audible, “HMMMM… so he’s moved into the palace, huh? I’ve got it! Bring him a house warming present.”</p><p>“A… house warming present?”</p><p>“Yeah! Like a fruit basket, or a pot plant! Everyone likes presents, even abominable snowmen.”</p><p>“Strangely, I think that’s actually a good idea,” you say. Olaf raises his eyebrows, offended.</p><p>“Strange, how? Implying my ideas <em>aren’t </em>top notch.”</p><p>“Well… maybe not that time you and Anna rode the sledge down three sets of stairs.”</p><p>“In my defence, Anna encouraged me,” says Olaf.</p><p>You never thought you’d have to reimpose your parents’ no-indoor-sledging ban on your now-eighteen year old sister. Some things never change, you suppose.</p><p> </p><p>It takes until the next day to summon up your reserves of courage.</p><p>All morning, you’ve dragged your feet, fingers stumbling over the buttons on your cloak.</p><p>Facing the creature on the mountain was less frightening than this: heading out into town by yourself, without Anna or Olaf as a buffer.</p><p>You’re the Queen. You can’t hide behind your sister like you did your parents.</p><p>Yet all the things that could go wrong replay in your head like a children’s flip-book.</p><p>Saying the wrong thing.</p><p>Stumbling over your own words.</p><p>Freezing everything.</p><p>Conceal, don’t--</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p><em>No, I’m not that person anymore</em>.</p><p>Your feet have taken you out onto the cobblestone plaza of the market. Something wet hits your face. It’s raining. You hadn’t even noticed. The moisture in the air curls your perfectly braided hair, and you reach up to cup the rain in your hands.</p><p>It feels good.</p><p>Your racing thoughts slow to a still. You step out of yourself; listen to the sound of rain, feel it on your face.</p><p>Someone calls, “Your Majesty, please, you’re getting soaked.”</p><p>The greengrocer ushers you into his stall. The rain comes down harder, bouncing off the cobblestone with the force of hail. You stand under the tarpaulin, the heavy patter of rain on canvas in your ears.</p><p>The greengrocer repeats himself: “I said, your Majesty, should you really be out on your own like this?’</p><p>You’re able to take in the grocer properly. His brows pinched, he holds onto the bowl of pomegranates harder than necessary.</p><p>What would Anna do?</p><p>“I probably ought to be in some meeting, but I had a hankering for some fresh pears.” You smile, and watch as the tension in the grocer’s face drains away.</p><p>“Oh! Well then, you’ve come to the right place, your Majesty--”</p><p>You return from your escapade wet, happy, with a whole basket of fruit.</p><p> </p><p>“Elsa,” Anna says, at dinner that night. “Kristoff told me he saw you in the market today.” There’s a question in the words.</p><p>“Sometimes, I do leave the castle by myself, Anna.” You defensive tone is betrayed by the flush in your neck.</p><p>Anna sees right through you, of course.</p><p>She pushes her chair aside and casts her arms around your check, pulling in for a tight embrace.</p><p>“I’m proud of you, sis.”</p><p> </p><p>Rapping your knuckles against the palace door, you stand a little straighter.</p><p>“What now?” asks the creature. Buoyed by your success in the market, you don’t wither under his scathing dark eyes. You even manage a smile.</p><p>“Hello. I’ve brought you something. A moving in present, to welcome you to Arendelle.”</p><p>You present the basket of fruit. The creature squeezes a pear in his huge hand and sniffs it suspiciously.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Food,” you say.</p><p>“Food?”</p><p>“You eat it. It tastes good.”</p><p>When he returns a blank look, you demonstrate. Taking a bite, swallowing, rubbing your belly.</p><p>“Mm, yummy.”</p><p>He takes another tentative sniff, and then bites into the flesh of the pear. His sullen maw draws up into surprise, and he swallows the whole thing; core and all.</p><p>“More,” he booms.</p><p>You figure you can work on the <em>manners</em> thing later.</p><p>He eats the whole basket-- including the basket.</p><p>“More,” he demands.</p><p>“I can bring more next time,” you say.”If it’s OK to visit again.”</p><p>The creature studies you. “Why?” he asks.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why you keep coming back. Everyone else shout, run away. Scared. Not come back.”</p><p>It takes everything in you to meet his dark eyes.</p><p>“I’m not scared of you.”</p><p>He doesn’t seem to know how to take this.</p><p>“And I’m here because I’m--” your creator? <em>Mother</em>? “I’m here because I understand how you feel. Because people are scared of me, too.”</p><p>You swear he lifts a snowy eyebrow. “You?” he asks, as if to say: really, puny human?</p><p>“So is it OK if I come again?”</p><p>He remains silent, and then, after an age, the mountain shifts; a tiny, imperceptible nod.</p><p> </p><p>The baker and her wife are startled to see the Queen walk in through the door, to say the least.</p><p>Although your heart hammers as though you’ve run a marathon, you focus not on yourself. You ask after their health, their children. You talk about the weather, and the harvest festival that draws ever closer. The baker’s wife is eager for you to try their krumkake, and you ladle the praise generously.</p><p>At last you have it: their genuine smiles. And your own heart stops pounding, your own smile comes easier.</p><p>You leave the bakery with bags laden down heavy with a variety of treats, your heart light.</p><p>You decide not to tell them it’s for your snow golem in the mountains, though.</p><p> </p><p>This time, he invites you in.</p><p>Or, at least, he turns and allows you to follow him inside, which you take as invitation.</p><p>The palace is a mess. Pillars smashed and shattered, he settles into the crumbled ruins of the throne; the king of his own broken castle.</p><p>“I see you’ve been. Redecorating.”</p><p>He grunts.</p><p>You conjure up an icy stool out of the air and sit. Clear your throat.</p><p>“How are you?”</p><p>“Fine,” he grunts.</p><p>The conversation is terse and as drawn out as pulling teeth, but he likes the bread and loves the krumcake, and he let you in, didn’t he?</p><p>You hope that counts for something.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Minutes, hours, days spent watching the needle of the clock, you used to feel immeasurably old. Time passes slowly in an empty vacuum. Your tutors were always keen to tell you how mature you were for your age.</p><p>But in your council chamber, you now see yourself for what you are: a twenty-one year old queen, green as grass.</p><p>And once the local aristocracy has figured out that you won’t freeze them for speaking out of turn, they’re all too happy to talk over you.</p><p>Your own suggestions for Arendelle are shot down by old men who know the old ways, and how those ways are best. You find yourself succeeding, because maybe they do know best, and you want these veteran knowledgeable men to like you.</p><p>You’re good at keeping quiet. You’ve done it your whole life.</p><p>Franz, your father’s chief aide and the regent appointed before you came of age, sits by your side as your mentor. It was Franz who kept Arendelle ticking over this entire time; he knows these men. It’s easier on everyone if he speaks for you. You breathe deep, keeping yourself measured, tempered. Because, if you do lose your temper, then--</p><p> </p><p>“I DON’T WANT THEM HERE.”</p><p>The creature lifts the crystalline pillar as though it’s a twig, and sends it hurling across the throne room. The ice shatters into splinters that hit the ground in shards of hail.</p><p>“We’re talked about this. You can’t scare away the ice harvesters-- you’re hurting their livelihoods.” This isn’t the first time you’ve had this argument, and your voice is strained.</p><p>“Not my bad they’re scared. BABIES.”</p><p>A crystalline tea set follows the pillar, hitting the wall with an almighty smash.</p><p>“Do you like frightening people?” you demand over the cacophony.</p><p>“I. Don’t. Care,” he roars in staccato. A delicate bird cage soon goes the way of the tea set.</p><p>You press a finger to your pulsing temple. “Do you think I like talking to people? Do you think I should just start-- throwing stuff at them, because I’m angry? And because I’m upset?”</p><p>A silly hat stand is in your way; you shove it aside. It falls and shatters.</p><p>“Don’t you think I want to run away from the patronising old men who don’t take me seriously because I’m young, and because I’m a woman? You think I want to care what people think of me?”</p><p>Pent up anger and frustration at boiling point, you pick up a set of wine glasses and let them smash on the ground. It feels savage, lawless-- good.</p><p>The creature-- your creature, has forgone words. He roars, ramming his broad shoulders against the armoire. You curl your fingers around a lamp, and let it fly.</p><p> </p><p>Later, the two of you sit amongst the wreckage of the throne room, having come to a silent understanding. Tired out.</p><p>“Elsa. Why you make me?” he asks.</p><p>Your heart twists. You feel exhausted-- like a wet towel, wrung out.</p><p>“I don’t know how to answer that.”</p><p>He grunts.</p><p>“If it makes you feel any better, most people don’t know answer to that question, either.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“It don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Elsa, how’s the, uh- Marshmellow situation going?”</p><p>Another morning, another breakfast. Eggs on toast and the clatter of cups in the achingly large dining room.</p><p>“It’s… well, it’s going.”</p><p>You decide to omit how you and the creature smashed crockery and let rude words echo off the ceiling. Probably for the best.</p><p>“Also, he doesn’t like being called Marshmellow,” you say.</p><p>“What do you call him, then?” Anna asks.</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“Isn’t that kind of awkward?” she says.</p><p>“Yes, but… I’m not sure I deserve to give him a name. I brought him into this world without giving him a choice. He ought at least to choose his own name.”</p><p>“Elsa...”</p><p>You rebuff Anna’s sympathy with a shake of your head and a smile.</p><p>“I think… I think he’s lonely.”</p><p>Steam curling from the coffee cup, you pluck the realisation out the air like an oracle peering into vapours.</p><p>“Huh. Was it him hurling tree trunks at the ice harvesters that gave you that idea?” Anna asks, wry.</p><p>You stare downwards into your cup. “People deal with loneliness in… different ways.”</p><p>And here it is.</p><p>One of the conversations you and your sister dance about, both afraid to take the first step.</p><p>Your own face reflected back in the waters; your own guilt.</p><p>
  <em>How can she even bear to sit at the same table as me? I almost killed her because of my own cowardice.</em>
</p><p>You cannot meet Anna’s eyes.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s true. I decided it’d be a great idea to marry the first man I met.” Sadness tucked into Anna’s smile. But still, she smiles. “Thank God you froze everything, Elsa. Otherwise I’d be Anna Westergard now. Like, ew.”</p><p>Tentative, you smile back. Something lifts.</p><p>“Well. You know, that’s what magical big sisters do.”</p><p>Your hand closes over Anna’s.</p><p>Somehow, you feel like things might turn out alright.</p><p> </p><p>“How would you feel about me bringing a friend next time?”</p><p>The creature has been slowly opening up, his vocabulary expanding past <em>no </em>and <em>more</em> and <em>go away</em>. But now, he clams up tight.</p><p>“Friend?”</p><p>“Yes. His name is Olaf. You’ve… uh, met him before.” Actually, you recall he threw Olaf out of the palace in pieces, and maybe this is a bad idea, even if Olaf was enthusiastic--</p><p>“Olaf… OH. Puny snowman. Ha ha ha.”</p><p>“Haha… yes, that’s him. He’s kind of like-- he’s your brother.”</p><p>“Brother.” He turns the word around in his mouth, tasting it. Something new.</p><p>“I will meet my brother,” he decides. “And I will arrange his body so his legs on top of head. Ha ha ha.”</p><p>“Right. So, we’re going to have to discuss some ground rules, first...”</p><p>Well, you think. At least if he takes Olaf apart, it’s easy enough to put him together again.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh Hiiiii---ii Marshmellow. Good to see you again, buddy. It’s been ages. I haven’t seen you since you threw me and Anna and Sven and Kristoff off a cliff--”</p><p>You’re holding your breath.</p><p>“It was awesome! Wanna go again?” Olaf asks.</p><p>You exhale. Let it go.</p><p>The creature spends the afternoon using Olaf’s chortling head as a basketball. It goes pretty well, all things considered.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>All the lords and assorted gentry are in support for the building of a new harbour. Trade has increased by leaps and bounds since the gates were opened, even without Weselton.</p><p>What they aren’t in support of is how it will be paid for.</p><p>“Your Majesty, with all due respect--” Earl Hansen’s lip is curled. His respect carries little past his words. “Raising trade tariffs will bring <em>less</em> ships into Arendelle’s waters. What, then, is the point of building a new harbour at all?”</p><p>His peers murmur in agreement, a low dull sound.</p><p>You feel frazzled. This meeting is going around in circles.</p><p>But you need these mens’ support. So you keep your voice measured and pleasant.</p><p>“What would you suggest then, sir?”</p><p>“Arendelle is throwing its money away on these-- housing subsidies--” the subsidies you implemented, designed to help the tenants of greedy landlords charging unfair prices. All part of their design to push <em>undesirables</em> out of the town centre and push prices even further <em>up</em>. A monopoly you’d never even caught of whiff of from your aides, until the baker and her wife told you about the troubles with their rent.</p><p>As it turned out, the nobility you relied upon to make decisions had rather different concerns from the bakers and shopkeepers and labourers.</p><p>Getting out of the house proved enlightening in more ways than one.</p><p>“That’s where the money ought to be coming from,” Hansen continued. “If people can’t afford to pay their own rents, frankly, they should move somewhere more affordable.”</p><p>You’re sure this has nothing to do with the iron mines south of Arendelle, and Earl Hansen’s new trade contracts with Finland and Denmark.</p><p>“Hear, hear,” someone says.</p><p>You’re biting down the sharp retort when Hansen remarks; “We’ll be subsidising that golem terrorising the mountain, next--”</p><p>Laughter. Humiliation, hot in your throat.</p><p>Franz clears his throat, loudly.</p><p>“Your Majesty. Gentlemen. I think it’s time we break for lunch. We can continue this afterwards.”</p><p> </p><p>Standing by the window, you take measured breaths to contain the tingle threatening your hands.</p><p>For a moment, facing down Earl Hansen, an ice cold anger had risen in your throat. How easy it would be to freeze Hansen in his seat, to be the ice queen so many think you are.</p><p>Is fear your only option?</p><p>You hear familiar footsteps. Franz.</p><p>“Franz… I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you say.</p><p>He steps up beside you, admiring the view down onto the town. “I’m afraid this might be partly my fault, your Majesty. Your father did me a great honour naming me regent in his absence, but it was all I could do to keep the ship afloat. Arendelle’s nobility spent years without a steady hand to temper them. I fear they’ve gotten rather used to getting their own way,” he says, with a sigh.</p><p>“They certainly are… difficult.”</p><p>“Something to keep in mind, your Majesty, is that ruling sometimes means making decisions that not all are happy about. You can’t please every man in that room without upsetting another.”</p><p>“So I should just… let them be upset?”</p><p>“The important thing is not whether they approve of your laws or not, it’s that they respect you, Queen Elsa.”</p><p>You stare down at your hands. Your voice is small and timid, not the voice of a queen at all. “And how do I do that?”</p><p>“Listen to them. Acknowledge their opinions. But make your own. And do not let them talk to you with disrespect, or talk over you. I’m here to to support you in all things, your Majesty.”</p><p> </p><p>The meeting is re-adjourned. Your voice catches in your throat, but you breathe, and speak again.</p><p>“Gentlemen, I’ve made my decision over the funding for the new harbour. I’ve listened to all your concerns and suggestions, and decided the best course of action is to raise the tariffs--”</p><p>“Your Majesty, this is preposterous--” Hansen blusters. Voices of dissent join in.</p><p>“I have listened to you, sir, now pay me the same kindness and let me speak,” you say, words cool and crisp as morning frost. He settles down like a chastened dog. “The tariffs will be scaled, and some exemptions made for small business owners. I have the exact numbers in front of me--”</p><p>By the end of the meeting, the noblemen watch you more alertly. Listen more. You’re no longer a queen to be ran roughshod over.</p><p>Franz gives you the thumbs up. When you’re alone, you give him one back.</p><p> </p><p>The torrent of reports of the mountain creature slow to a trickle, and then dry up entirely.</p><p>“Hello, how are you today?”</p><p>“Good,” the creature grunts. “Come in.”</p><p>In the antechamber, a transformation has taken place. All the smashed up columns have been piled into higgledy piggledy stacks, chandeliers and bric a brac arranged in geometric patterns on the ground.</p><p>“You look like you’ve been busy,” you say. “What have you been up to?”</p><p>“Art,” he grunts.</p><p>Perhaps, people really are capable of change.</p><p>“How lovely! What’s this one here?” you gesture to a pile of broken chairs.</p><p>“Represent the time Elsa and I broke stuff. Lot of stuff. Lot of fun.”</p><p>“I-I see. And this?”</p><p>Several balls of snow stacked on top of one another, with a teapot on top.</p><p>“This one. My brother, Olaf.”</p><p>Last night, he and Olaf had a sleepover. Olaf had waved you away, insisting it was ‘boys only.’ You’d had to listen in, however.</p><p>“So this is what people call <em>sleeping</em>. I consider myself a bit of an expert on it. You lie down on a special sleeping mat and close your eyes, and you see these wild visions that make no sense at all! It’s the best--”</p><p>Taking in the Olaf sculpture, you notice the creature shifting from foot to foot, as if anxious. Waiting for your reply.</p><p>“Goodness! This just looks just like him,” you say, and his mouth curls upwards. The very first time you’ve seen him smile.</p><p>You’ve never been so proud.</p>
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